Then there is Eve who, true to her word, was waiting for me to return after the horrors I committed in the throne room. After I was commanded to swear myself to the king in blood. She did not try to fill the silence that blanketed the room when I entered, understanding that sometimes, there were no words that could be said. Instead, she took one look at the blood streaking my hands and chest, the rest blending into the crimson gown I had worn, and started a hot shower. She waited in the sitting room while I scrubbed my skin raw. As I washed my hair twice over, too lost in what had happened to notice that the water had grown cold until my body was trembling beneath it.
When I emerged from the bathroom, a cup of hot tea was thrust into my hands, a blanket wrapped around my shoulders. I said nothing as she guided me to bed.
Eve had stayed the entire night, quietly sitting next to me. I wasn’t sure if she quite understood just how little sleep found me most nights or if there was something else that drove her to take care of me the way she did. Her generosity and kindness had been as devastating as it was sweet. I knew her days were full of tasks given to her by the king, yet she spent whatever free time she was allowed withme. I had been slow to trust my handmaiden, but now the very reason for that hesitance is also etched into my own palm. A scar to show that I too am bound to the king in yet another way.
Eve slipped into my room every night afterward, sometimes bringing food for us to share and books or stories of her day in the castle. And it was sweet—had been sweet—for her to continue to do it despite the lack of conversation I offered in return. But tonight, I told her not to come. Begged, really. For tomorrow brings another meeting with the sirens, the king having informed me during our dinner. He had not forced meto drink wine tonight, likely due to that meeting, and so I stay awake and stare at the night sky. Wishing, shamefully, that I had the haze of wine to coat my mind so I could not feel all the things that continuously threaten to pull me under.
And beneath the pitter patter of the rain falling, I ask myself that quiet question, one that I know there is no answer to.Where are you?
“You are growing weaker,” Queen Amari chides as she looks at me, the ice in her voice making my shoulders lift. King Dolian’s hand flexes on the small of my back, my balance having gone unsteady after the last siren I poured my magic into. Her dark eyes flick from me to him before narrowing as she drums her fingers along her golden trident. “Why is that?”
The king tips his head to the side as if in thought. “We have been busy preparing for our wedding,” he says, fingers pressing more firmly against me. “The excitement has likely just made her tired.”
Queen Amari smirks as she returns that terrifying gaze to me. “Is that so?”
While beautiful, the siren queen’s features do not hide just how deadly a predator she is. Her lethality is present in the muscles of her arms and her toned legs, how her eyes watch both the king and Iandthe guards that stand behind us. With the exception of Xander, who flanks my other side. The sun plays off the deep purple scales that line her hips and breasts, some glinting on her arms and the sides of her torso. Her voice is as regal as the king’s, but her tone hits with more lush notes.
“No,” she answers in my silence, lifting a finger that a black talon now protrudes from and dragging it down my cheek as she leans in closer. “I don’t think that’s it at all. Tell me,Rhea,what has drained you so? Where else have you been using that wonderful magic?”
My gaze widens at the rush of power that infiltrates my mind, powerful currents of it drag me deeper and deeper, making any command given by the king look weak in comparison. “Healing the king’s army.”
Her smile sharpens, dark eyes gleaming as she turns her attention to the king. He doesn’t cower beneath that menacing glare, though his hand continues to push down on my back like he’s hoping to make an imprint of it through the fabric of my dark blue dress.
“This can’t come as that big of a shock,” he says coolly. “I must make sure my kingdom is as adequately protected as yours is.”
“It isn’t a shock. I’d be disappointed if you hadn’t done so.” Pulling away from me, Queen Amari looks back over her shoulder at her waiting sirens. Each of them stand at attention, waiting for whatever command their queen will give them. “But I would be remiss if I did not remind you that I don’t appreciate being deceived.” The shift in her tone is immediate, as is the way Xander’s hand grips the hilt of his sword in response.
“These are delicate times, Your Majesty. Despite our working arrangement, I was not sure if you wouldappreciateknowing my army is as free moving as yours.”
Queen Amari laughs, brushing the long strands of her black curls off her shoulder, revealing one half of her bare chest completely to us. “When is the joyous occasion?”
“Three weeks’ time,” he answers, somewhat reluctantly. It’s the first time I am hearing just how close we are to being married, and yet the information doesn’t pull terror or anger from me. It doesn’t make me bristle or curl my fingers towards my palms. Instead, my vision glazes over as a dull sound thatmight be something as benign as the wind or as damning as the screams of the men I had killed plays in my ear.
“Excellent. You may add myself and my daughters to the guest list. We’ll arrive the evening before for Rhea to heal us and another batch of my legion.”
Three weeks. That hardly seems like any time at all to escape. I have already been here in the Mortal Kingdom for at least double that amount—or was it more? I don’t quite know. If I look at the passage of time as told by the seasons, the warm autumnal evenings have given way to bitterly cold nights, and my once favorite golden, red, and orange-hued leaves on the trees have all transformed into brittle, brown clumps on the ground, ice clinging to them in the mornings.
“Think this through, Queen Amari,” King Dolian says, a sharp edge to his voice. “By coming, you’re revealing that you have the power to cross through the Spell. Right now, that knowledge is known only to us.”
“I do not fear anyone finding out that my people can now access the very land they were promised. Let it serve as either a reminder or a threat that we areverymuch a part of this continent and the time of keeping us stuffed beneath the sea isover.”
After those ominous words, the queen and her sirens retreat, and when they have all disappeared beneath the surface, the king turns to me, his hazel eyes burning bright. “Starting tomorrow, you will heal battalions at a time. No more small groups.” His hand moves to cup the side of my face, surprise crossing his own when I don’t attempt to lean away. “Your magic is powerful,” he continues, thumb brushing the apple of my cheek. “And you will help prepare us foranythreat that might attempt to separate us.”
I don’t bother telling him that I don’t think I can manage healing more than I already am. It won’t matter, not as magicsuffocates me like my head has been pushed beneath water. He forces me to look at him, my eyes taking in every minute detail of his face against my will. I watch his eyes soften, even as the corner of his mouth kicks up in silent victory.Yes, I want to say,you’ve won.Maybe I do speak it because then he is leaning in, not with command but as if he’s testing my crumpled resolve. That discordant sound in my ears grows louder, my vision doubling when he presses his lips to mine. I can’t feel if they are soft or rough, can’t detect the coarseness of his beard scraping against my cheek. There is nothing as he lingers there, kissing me but not. I’m an imposter in my own body, watching from the outside. A shell of a woman.
Only when Xander begins to address his guards to head to the carriages does King Dolian pull back, that smirk framed within his beard deepening. “I love you,” he says.Love. As if he could ever understand what it is to love. To be in love. I don’t respond, but he doesn’t seem to care as he turns and places one of my hands in the crook of his bent arm, leading us off the beach.
My head aches the entire way, but I settle into the pain as I stare out of the carriage window, watching the landscape pass by in a blur. This is not the story I wanted for myself, to become an unwilling main character in a tragedy that was supposed to be a fairytale. How much longer will I endure hoping for a future that might never come? How much am Iwillingto let those in power use me until I become someone unrecognizable? Until I became the villain of my own story?
Chapter Eighty-Two: Bahira
“Isn’ttheresomesortof rule about taking a member of royalty’s blood? Like death by beheading or something?”
I pause, my gaze moving from the glass slide in front of me to the little girl with brown curls currently holding a small vial filled with said crimson liquid up to the light in front of her. “Not that I’m aware of.”
“You should probably double check,” she murmurs, as if I’m a fool for not having done so already. “What if this is illegal?”
I snort, refocusing on the single bead of red that sits perfectly center on the slide. “Then I suppose you’ll be considered my accomplice if we’re caught.” I clutch the small dropper tightly, forcing a steady hand as I bring it over the slide. Starla starts to respond, but I tune her out as I slide my thumb over the plunger at the top of the dropper. Once I’m sure it’s aligned, I push the plunger, and another bead of blood falls to join the one on the slide.
